


Too Late Is Like Never

by Catsintheattic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened at the Tower – Draco’s POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late Is Like Never

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird/gifts).



From the first moment on, things had not gone as planned. And now Draco found himself listening to Dumbledore, who, leaning casually against the wall of the Astronomy tower, launched into another of the speeches he was so fond of. He even had the nerve to smile, as if he wasn’t facing death, but taking afternoon tea in his office.

“You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me Draco, but they have been feeble attempts ... so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it ...”

Draco wished he’d just whipped out his wand and cast Avada Kedavra at first sight. Instead, Dumbledore had managed to entangle him in a conversation, questioning Draco’s ability and determination to see his assignment through. 

“It has been in it! I’ve been working on it all year, and tonight—“

A yell in the depth of the castle made him stop in his outburst. He glanced over his shoulder. He had to get on with this, finish it before the others reached them and threatened to take over. For an instant, Dumbledore’s voice was reduced to a mere noise in the background of Draco’s focus.

“I see. You are afraid to act until they join you.”

Dumbledore was a fool. He thought himself so wise, but he would never understand Draco’s motives, ever. “I’m not afraid!” Draco hissed, and then, for good measure, he added, “It’s you who should be scared!”

“But why? I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe ...”

Draco felt something twitch in his stomach. He wasn’t innocent, hadn’t been for quite some time.

“So tell me, while we wait for your friends ... how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it.”

The pull of someone asking and listening to all that had been going on during this horrible year had such an appeal that Draco found himself laying open all the schemes and tricks he’d used and had to keep secret. The Vanishing Cabinet. The enchanted necklace and the poisoned mead. Snape’s interference. The enchanted coins and Madame Rosmerta’s forced compliance. Dumbledore asked and praised, and Draco answered, like a good student to his challenging professor. It had never been like that before, and for a fleeting moment Draco wondered if such attention and care was what Potter got from the headmaster all the time. It was almost ... tempting ... to wish he had a choice. 

But he could have none of that. He couldn’t show mercy. Draco’s wand hand already shook with tension from the effort of his prolonged focus and talking; he almost couldn’t keep it trained straight at Dumbledore any longer. 

Draco stared at him. “They thought I’d die in the attempt, but I’m here ... and you’re in my power ... I’m the one with the wand ... you’re at my mercy ...”

“No, Draco,” said Dumbledore. “It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.” 

He almost sounded like he was sorry. Almost like he believed there had ever been a choice for Draco, that Draco could walk a different walk – even now. Part of Draco wished it could be true, and part of him recoiled from the thought of such a tremendous betrayal. 

Footsteps thundered up the stairs and through the door to the top of the tower, and Draco was roughly shoved out of the way. He regained his balance and looked around. When he spotted Fenrir Greyback among the others, he felt himself step backwards immediately. He’d never wanted this abomination to interfere at Hogwarts. But then again, Draco had never been in a position to decide on the details of his assignment.

All he could do to keep his fear and disgust in check was to look at Dumbledore feigning resolution and determination. He hoped the others wouldn’t call his bluff. But he also knew that he was only delaying the inevitable. And Dumbledore was right: he couldn’t do it. Draco’s parents would die, and their deaths would be on him. He tightened his grip on his wand, but the wood was so slippery with sweat that he felt it sliding through his fingers, unsteady and unreliable. 

“We’ve got orders. Draco’s got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly.”

That was Rowle. He stood so close to Draco his breath hit Draco’s ear. Draco shifted uneasily on his feet, wishing Rowle would let him do this on his own.

He briefly closed his eyes. As if he ever could do this on his own.

“Now, Draco, quickly.”

But Draco’s hand was shaking so badly that he could barely aim. And he had four witnesses to report his increasing failure to the Dark Lord. 

He widened his stance, trying to gather his courage one last time. There was no other way. He had come so far, he couldn’t back down now. Dumbledore was right: He’d waited far too long. But mistakes could be rectified. They could be amended. Draco could still save his parents, because no matter what childish hope he’d offered, Dumbledore, slumped against the tower wall, wasn’t in a position to help. 

Draco barely registered the tumult around him, only felt a push at his shoulder, when Snape swept past him. He stumbled hard towards the group of Death Eaters and couldn’t prevent himself knocking into Greyback, who leered at Draco’s flinch of discomfort. They all watched the scene unfold in front of them, and none dared to interfere.

Snape gazed at Dumbledore for a moment, his face a contorted mass of fury and determination. Dumbledore said something too soft for Draco to hear. Then Snape raised his wand, and did what Draco could not.

The remainder of the day and the weeks that followed were a blur of pain and confusion, the desperate effort to come to terms with failure and murder at the same time. Because even though Draco had not spoken the words, he felt like he had been the reason for Dumbledore’s death. The guilt didn’t make his punishments under the Dark Lord’s wand any easier to bear.

It was only after the war, when Potter spoke as a witness at Draco’s trial, that the full truth hit him. In the eyes of Potter and the Ministry, Dumbledore had been right. Draco wasn’t a killer. He was only a coward, indecisive even though he’d come up with a bag full of trinkets to outwit and kill a much greater man. There was nothing to be proud of. 

On Draco’s way out, Potter called his name, laid a hand on Draco’s trembling arm, and handed him back his hawthorn wand. Potter’s face showed the same emotion as Dumbledore’s when he’d talked about mercy. It was humiliating, or maybe it was humbling – but Draco had never been good at telling the difference, and so he slipped his arm from under Potter’s hand, thanked him stiffly for returning his wand, and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> All dialogue for this ficlet has been taken directly out of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, chapter twenty-seven, The Lightening-struck Tower. 
> 
> Thank you to celta_diabolica for the beta.
> 
> This is a belated birthday present for waterbird, who asked for something related to Draco and Dumbledore and the Tower, with an H/D element to make it extra yummy. I didn’t manage a full H/D take on the events, but there is a lot of Draco angst to make up for it. :-)


End file.
